From crowded Rome (that would prefer to sleep,

and dream about tall Caracalla's baths),

the tomb-road goes where fever-marshes seep.

Final farm windows, in its aftermath,

glare at the road with an intent that's black.

It bears that look forever on its back,

as on it goes, wrecking things left and right,

till it is panting, pleading, out of sight,

then quickly lifts its blankness to the vast,

clear sky. It looks to see if it's alone,

if any windows watch. And as it calls

far aqueducts to follow where it crawls,

the sky gives back a blankness of its own

in place of emptiness it will outlast.

Lied vom Meer

Capri, Piccola Marina

Uraltes Wehn vom Meer,

Meerwind bei Nacht:

du kommst zu keinem her;

wenn einer wacht,

so muß er sehn, wie er

dich übersteht:

uraltes Wehn vom Meer

welches weht

nur wie für Urgestein,

lauter Raum

reißend von weit herein.

O wie fühlt dich ein

treibender Feigenbaum

oben im Mondschein.